


Jealousy is a Bitch

by Madizenmadi



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Jealousy, Lack of Communication, M/M, Nationverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23194150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madizenmadi/pseuds/Madizenmadi
Summary: Early 1700s - Westernization of RussiaWhen Russia visits France to learn from his culture, Prussia gets a little jealous. When he goes to visit the two and feels like an outcast, jealousy gets the better of him and insecurity sets in.Turns out, a little communication is all he needs to keep his irrationality at bay.
Relationships: Prussia/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	Jealousy is a Bitch

Jealousy was a bitch Gilbert had been feeling much too often lately.

He hated being jealous, but he hated Ivan and Francis’ easy, playful conversations even more so. 

Why was Francis so flirty? Why was Ivan smiling so broadly? Why did their shoulders keep brushing and why was Ivan blushing?

Gilbert felt his left eye twitch at that realization that someone else’s flirting was not only causing Ivan to blush a bright pink, but it was causing him to smile. Usually, Ivan didn’t enjoy the flirting, he only laughed it off in his uncomfortable way of doing so, but no. Now, he was enjoying and reciprocating Francis’ flirtation. 

Francis was not Gilbert. Francis should not be so comfortable flirting with Gilbert’s secret Russian lover. And Ivan should not be just as comfortable with someone who was not Gilbert.

He downed his glass of alcohol, trying not to smash the glass with his grip. He burned a hole into Francis’ back with his glare. 

Why was he so fucking perfect? Why was he so charming? 

Sure, Gilbert knew he wasn’t the best man in the world, not when it came to love, and he knew he certainly wasn’t anywhere near as romantic and charismatic as Francis, but Ivan loved him.. right?

The german frowned. 

Why should he? Gilbert had a temper and was selfish, while Francis was always kind and patient. Gilbert yelled while Francis’ voice was always smooth and soft and "attractive". Francis gave wonderful gifts, something Gilbert couldn’t do even if he understood it. Francis was elegantly handsome, not a colorless albino covered in scars. Gilbert was a warmonger, a man who favoured war and fighting over dancing at lavish parties. He wore military uniforms while Francis wore a charming new assortment of the latest fashion everyday. Gilbert lacked all of what Francis was best at: keeping another person happy, keeping romance alive. And Ivan loved romance, loved all romantic things like Francis. He loved parties, he loved lavish lifestyle and intricate patterns and fashion. He loved wealth and extravagant gestures of romanticism. He loved jewels and romantic words, not medals and war cries like Gilbert had. He liked men who dressed and moved in the elegance that France did, not men who wore military attire and moved in uniform. 

A tug shoved Gilbert’s heart to his throat. 

Was Ivan getting tired of him? Was Ivan getting tired of their relationship? Was he falling out of love? Was he bored of Gilbert’s ignorance in showing his attraction, and instead craving what Francis drowned himself in?

Gilbert tried, he really did, but he could never be as romantic as Ivan. He could never write the abundance of sappy letters, he couldn’t figure out how to give beautiful things, couldn’t dance with the correct emotion he was supposed to (as Ivan had actually told him this fact a million times). Gilbert didn’t understand how to be a romantic man, and no matter how hard he tried, he just wasn’t. He tried to write his feelings for Ivan, but he always ended up burning it for fear someone would find it; his anxiety and embarrassment always seemed to keep him from sending the letters. He didn’t know how to dance outside of the steps; he thought he’d memorized it fine, but he always lacked the grace Ivan had or the emotion that was supposed to be put into it. How do you even put emotion into steps? He lacked the ability to express his feelings into words, something both Ivan and Francis did well and often. He always felt awkward receiving gifts from Ivan, and that most likely hurt Ivan’s feelings, even if Gilbert wasn’t meaning to; Francis always knew just how to react to Ivan’s gifts and always made the Russian smile. 

He just didn’t know how to be romantic, and maybe Ivan was getting tired of it. Maybe Ivan was craving something new. Afterall, a millennia of loving someone is bound to turn the relationship stale, isn’t it? Gilbert didn’t feel it was stale, he still always felt brand new with Ivan but maybe that feeling wasn’t mutual. 

Gilbert craved the uniform of familiarity, Ivan craved the curiosity of the unknown. 

His heart pulled into even more pain when he noticed Francis ask Ivan to dance, and Ivan accepted. And they danced. They talked. They smiled. They laughed. 

Gilbert hadn’t even seen Ivan yet, he was sure Ivan wasn’t aware that he was even here, and, somehow, that made the whole situation hurt worse. 

Was this how he always acted with Francis? Gilbert danced with other countries, too. Of course he did, he had to, but he never openly asked and accepted a dance with someone other than Ivan out of the pure desire to. Ivan was over at France’s much, much more than Gilbert’s, than his own country even lately. Was this what they did all day? Have they grown much closer? Well, that was obvious, yes, they have, but did this mean Ivan was falling for someone that wasn’t Gilbert? Was he going to leave him for Francis? The idea brought tears to his eyes and a burning feeling to his chest, but he was more hurt than he was angry. He loved Ivan more than everything, he didn’t want to lose him.

He kept watching them, unnoticing of how much alcohol he was drinking until he noticed his stomach and throat burning warmly. He was dizzy, but he wasn’t sure if that was the alcohol or not. 

Ivan’s eyes hadn’t searched for him even once in the hours Gilbert had been there; Gilbert seemed to always be searching for Ivan’s arrival. Did Ivan truly not care if he was here or not? Was he so distracted by Francis that Gilbert didn’t even cross his mind? 

Before he was even aware of it, a tear escaped his eye. He jolted, and quickly wiped it in growing rage. Harshly, he blew air through his nose and reached for more alcohol, but his grip shattered the glass. He stared a bit, feeling the pain well with the blood on his hand, then looked up, finally catching Ivan’s gaze. His gaze was happy, then dropped at the sight of Gilbert and somehow that made Gilbert feel even more like shit. 

The Prussian quickly escaped his gaze and fled away from the party crowd. He wasn’t familiar with his surroundings, so he pushed through whatever doors and long, empty hallways he could. All he wanted was to get far away from any hint of the party, he didn’t even want to hear the muffled sounds from a distance; it was all too much.

When it was finally quiet, he decided he was far enough and sat down. He ended up in another garden, breathing in the night air and listening to the soft sounds of animals rustling. The fountain beside him trickled quietly as the water moved, and Gilbert put a bloody hand into it, watching the blood diffuse and stain the crystal clear color with a fading red. It stung, but Gilbert couldn’t find the ability to pull his hand out. Instead, he welcomed the pain and invited it to mask the ache in his chest. 

He was suddenly tired, exhausted from his emotions and the crowded noise of people combined. 

He hated parties, hated them more than anything. He much rathered the serene sound of the night air, away from everyone and everything. He didn’t belong in the city, he didn’t belong around fake people with wild clothes and amounting wealth, he belonged in the tranquil woods, with the silence and the animals and the lack of responsibility to pretend to be something he’s not. 

Maybe that’s another reason Ivan was growing tired of him: they were complete opposites. 

A pause, then he groaned and rested his head against his arm on the stone. He hated how every thought went back to his jealousy. He just wanted to escape it, that’s all he wanted to do. 

Nature continued in an attempt to distract him with her noise, but it barely worked, and Gilbert was left to continue piling reasons onto his stack of thoughts as to why Ivan would be happier with France than with him. 

At some point, Gilbert must have dozed off, because he was suddenly awoken by Ivan’s voice and footsteps behind him. 

“Are you okay?” his gentle voice asked. Gilbert felt it stab at him. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be with Francis?”

A pause filled the air, but Gilbert kept his stare on the water, refusing to look at Ivan’s reflection. 

“No, he’s entertaining other guests. Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”

“You looked occupied.” 

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“I doubt that.”

Ivan’s stare on him was tempting Gilbert to shiver. But he didn’t move. 

“What is up with you?” Ivan finally asked, and Gilbert’s fogged mind just realized they were speaking in French, of all languages. Gilbert replied in German. 

“Don’t worry about it. Go back to staring into Francis’ eyes like a lovesick puppy.” 

“Gilbert, you know I don’t understand German,” he said, again in French. Gilbert spoke in Ivan’s native language. 

“I refuse to speak in his disgusting fucking French.”

“What the hell is going on with you?” Ivan’s voice was raised, but he was still speaking in French. 

“Fuck off,” Gilbert growled, feeling his chest squeeze more. He didn’t want to talk to him. Or, maybe he did, but he didn’t know how to go about it through his jealous pain. 

“What the hell is wrong with you? I haven’t seen you in almost a year and this is how you talk to me?”

“Gee, I'm surprised you remember how long it’s been, taking into the fact you’ve spent all your spare time at Francis’ house and even refusing to let me come see you like I’d asked. Go back to fucking Francis and leave me alone.”

It was quiet now, but Gilbert still didn’t look at him, even if it’d been so long since he’d seen his handsome face. He felt tears well in his eyes and tried to blink them away. They fell down his face instead. He growled, wiping them with his wet hand. Ivan was still silent. Then, the grass beside Gilbert sounded and shifted as Ivan sat down. Gilbert looked the other way.

“Gilbert, look at me,” he said, finally in Russian. Gilbert didn’t move. Ivan reached for his hand but he pulled away and held it to his chest. He was being childish and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it, he was hurt. Ivan’s stare stayed on him, Gilbert saw it through the water’s reflection. 

Ivan kept quiet a few moments longer, then said, “Are you jealous?” 

The word struck Gilbert with an offense, and he huffed, but still didn’t respond. Ivan took his response as a conformation. 

“I’m sorry. That is a bit my fault isn’t it?” Gilbert didn’t respond. “I’m sorry I didn’t respond to you asking to see me. I wanted to, but I’ve been so busy--”

“Yeah, at fucking France’s house. That’s all you’ve been busy with, you don’t even fucking write to me anymore. I get I can’t write like fucking Francis does but at least I--”

“Hold on,” Ivan tried. “This isn’t--” 

“It’s always Francis this, Francis that. You never talk to me anymore, you never act like you enjoy being with me anymore, you’re always around Francis every spare time you get! And I get I’m not as awesome or romantic as he is and I don’t keep you as happy as he does or--” 

He was cut off by Ivan grabbing him and pulling him to his chest. He yelped in surprise and tried to pull away but the Russian kept him there. 

“That’s not how this is at all, Gilbert, I promise.” 

Gilbert huffed, but didn’t resist his hold anymore. Instead, he focused on trying not to cry.

“Just because I’ve been around Francis so much doesn’t mean he makes me happier than you do.”

“You seemed really happy holding Francis’ hand.”

“I assure you, I was not. His hand had too much moisturizer.”

Gilbert would have laughed in a normal setting. Instead, he said, “You were close.” 

“He’s shorter than you, I kinda had to.” 

“You were flirting. And blushing.” 

Ivan gave a short laugh. “He’s a flirt. After being around him a few months it becomes friendly banter, Gilbert.” 

“Didn’t seem like it.” 

“Why would you ever think I’d flirt with someone else? I’m with you, aren’t I?”

Gilbert stayed quiet. Ivan’s hair brushed his cheek as he moved closer to try and look at him. “Gilbert.” 

“You’re getting tired of me,” he muttered, hoping it was quiet enough not to hear, but Ivan heard and fell silent for a moment. 

“Why would I be tired of you?” his voice seemed exasperated, but there was a tone of hurt that pulled Gilbert’s heart farther down. 

The albino closed his eyes, ignoring the tears. “I’m nowhere near as charming or.. romantic as Francis. I’m.. boring compared to him.” 

Ivan’s silence made Gilbert’s insecurity stronger, and he attempted to bury himself into the Russian’s embrace. He didn’t want to hear Ivan’s response, he just wanted to disappear.

Finally, Ivan held Gilbert tighter but gentler and spoke softly. 

“I love you for you, Gilbert,” he said. “And you are not boring compared to him. If anything, he’s the boring one.” 

Gilbert scoffed. “Really? How?” 

“He’s romantic, yes. Charming, yes. But, that’s predictable. That’s boring.” Ivan buried his nose into Gilbert’s hair, inhaling gently before continuing to speak. “He’s glamorous and wealthy and kind and romantic, but that’s all he is. You’re so much more. You’re kind, but you protect yourself, and know when to give someone a piece of your mind. You’re uniform and military, but you don’t conform to the same fake appearance of a party, of wealth. You have a temper, but you show your patience and love to those who are close to you. Francis? He shows everyone the same thing. He’s charming, he's romantic, he’s a flirt, but he’s predictable in the way he’s like that with everyone. You have a different side you show everyone; it’s hard to figure you out. That’s intriguing, maybe even annoying sometimes, but it’s far from boring.” 

Gilbert felt his cheeks redden but he still didn’t look at Ivan. “But, you love romance, and you’ve even told me I’m not romantic enough.”

Ivan sighed. “That’s true.. I will admit, you’re not a romantic like he is--”

“See? That’s exactly what I mean! You even know I’m not good enough at that like he is!”

“Just because you’re not good at it doesn’t mean I’d rather how he does it over how you do it.” 

“I don’t!”

“Yes, you do. You don’t speak like he does, but you show me how much you love me through your actions. You give me what you know I love, not what looks the best or costs the most. You speak to me in a way that says you’re comfortable and in love, not in a way that’s fake and trying to win my affection; you already know you have my affection and comfort, and that’s so much better than fake words trying to draw me in. He flirts all the time, and they’re empty, your words are rare, but meaningful and I know they’re out of love. His entire personality is romance, Gilbert, and that gets old quick; you’re complex, and to this day I still discover different parts of you. I love that. I love that, and you more than anything.” 

Gilbert opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t know what to say. Instead, he turned and buried his face into Ivan’s chest. He felt one of the Russian’s hand stroke through his hair, and was relieved that the ache in his heart was replaced by a fluttering warmth. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, feeling shame and embarrassment burn his body. 

“It’s alright. I’m sorry for making you feel like this.” Ivan moved back and lifted Gilbert’s chin. Gilbert looked him in the eyes, and realized how much he missed them. “Just know, I love you more than anyone and everyone, okay? I could never grow bored of you, I promise.”

Gilbert hesitated, then nodded. “I’m sorry for getting so easily jealous.” 

Ivan smiled. “That’s just how you are. And I’m okay with it. As long as you trust me and tell me so I can help you from feeling that way.”

Gilbert nodded. Ivan’s smile became brighter and he gently kissed Gilbert’s forehead. 

“Besides. You smell much better than him.” 

Gilbert gave a small laugh. “Really?”

“Really. I’ve been drowning in his perfume for months. When I first arrived, I couldn’t stop sneezing.” 

Gilbert laughed and pressed his forehead to Ivan’s. “You can't stop sneezing around me sometimes."

"Well, this is his actual, constant scent, not his dogs or gunpowder or something temporary like that." Gilbert shook his head, chest lifted and the knot in his stomach gone. He was glad. He really hated being jealous. 

"You're a dork."

"I am."

"I love you." 

Ivan smiled and gently kissed his lips. “I love you most.”

**Author's Note:**

> Writing is the only thing keeping me sane during this whole quarantine and classes being postponed/online ordeal lmao
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated! <3


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